To Live Mundane
by Kokey
Summary: Every year, for seven years, things have remained the same. For seven years, Hermione Granger has remained the same. But this year...This year she's determined to flip the tables. This time...shes in control...
1. Prolouge: Oh What We Have Sacrificed

**To Live Mundane**

Kokey

**Disclaimer: Not mine, J.k. rowling owns these beautiful patented creations.**

**Prologue: Oh, What We Have Sacrificed**

It seemed as if the mere existence of Hogwarts had become mundane within itself. Every year it was the same routine; same train, same friends, same matters, same troubled concerns. Nothing had changed in seven years. As impossible as this may seem to any human being, it's actually more possible than the human mind can comprehend. It was happening to Hermione Jane granger at that very moment. Returning to Hogwarts was a yearly occurring stage of déjà vu.

The same friends… "Mione'! There you are. Harry and I've been waiting for you for over an hour…crazy place London…" _Oh, the simplicity_.

The same train… "Come on, hurry up, dear. You won't want to miss the train. It wouldn't be a good way to begin you're final year…and Head Girl! Percy was head boy, you know…" _Oh, the sorrow._

The same matters… "So, mudblood. We'll be sharing quarters this year, wont we? Yes, I guess we'll have to be relatively civil…if not to set an example…then to keep what's left of our sanity…" _Oh, the suffering_.

And the same, exact troubled concerns… "Hey, cast a silencing charm on that door, will you? Yours are stronger than mine. Last night, I felt it again. He's angry, he's hurt, and he wants revenge. I think we were wrong…I don't think its over just yet." _Oh, the fear_.

It was ridiculous. The things that used to interest Hermione about magic no longer made any sense. It was obvious that there was another element to the mystery of magic, one that she could not learn from sneaking books out of the restricted section of the library. One that she could not understand from any extensive amount of Professor Snape's lectures. One that could only be understood via the minds ability to understand the inexplicable, and still be normal.

Two nights before entering her final year at Hogwarts School For Whitchcraft and Wizardry, even before packing her trunk, and attempting to find her favorite book, she sat…and she thought. Thought about how much another year of the same repetitive, mundane actions would be a complete waste of seven years. Somewhere, she had to break the code. Somehow she had to start over. Someway…she'd make her last year at Hogwart's _hers_. Not a compilation of the lives of everyone else. Things would change this year…boy, would they change.

**Authors Note: I'm back everyone. I've been gone for a year now…and I have new ideas, and new stories just pouring out of the tips of my fingers. Parcheesi is now on temporary hiatus. Please review…I can take all the encouragement I can get.**


	2. Chapter 1: The Beauty Of Complication

**To Live Mundane**

Kokey

**Disclaimer: Not mine, J.k. rowling owns these beautiful patented creations.**

**Chapter 2: The Beauty Of Complication**

School had only just begun three days before, and there was already an air of panic throughout the mass of Seventh Years as they paraded through the school, completely occupying the library, and making Filch's life hell. The professors seemed to have grown two heads that year, shelling out more homework, and more quizzes than ever before. Some couldn't care less.

"This is ridiculous!" Ron began, sounding more like a baby than an eighteen-year-old boy,

"We've only been in school for three _days_ and I already have five essays to complete." He flopped down on one of the benches in the courtyard with Harry following soundlessly behind. "I'll never finish them. I wont!"

"Snape's isn't that bad, Ron. You can finish it in a day if you work at it." Harry stated, exhausted, and non-interested in Ron's complaints. "I'll find Dobby later, maybe he can get us some spell-correction parchment."

"No thanks. The last time we used some of Dobby's spell-correction parchment, I had to write the whole damn thing over." Ron said.

"Correction, _Hermione _had to write the whole damn thing over." Hermione only walked up behind them as Ron was ending his sentence. But heard enough to know which direction his train of thought was trying to take him, and knew enough to nip it in the bud right at that moment.

"And this time, Hermione isn't rewriting anyone's essays over. Oh, and dear, you left these in my bed last night…thought you might want them back as their you're favorite and all." Hermione dropped something purple and silky into Ron's lap, and as his face turned the color of bewitched prunes Hermione sauntered away mumbling something about "Head's Buisness."

Harry turned his head away from Hermione's retreating form and looked at Ron with one eyebrow cocked in feigned confusion. "So, I guess you and Mione are more serious then you two have bothered to let on."

Once again Ron's pale shade of skin changed drastically as he grinned wildly at Harry. "Harry, I told you that we'd already started doing it,"

"Mate, you two are at it _all the time._" Harry said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"No we're not."

"You're not, are you?" Harry began, "So what about on the train to school in the prefects toilets— "

Ron gasped softly, "You know about that?"

"—And again the same night in Moaning Mertle's restrooms, or the time—"

"Alright, Harry, I get it. I see you've developed a talent as a Peeking Tom this summer, have you?"

Harry laughed quietly, and tauntingly. "Dearest Ronald, it's not peeking when the whole school can hear you…"

Ron's eyes brightened, and for once his face was void of _any _color. "No WAY."

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Hermione laughed as she walked by the library and heard a couple of people called to her expectantly. She laughed because of the rude awakening she'd be glad to serve them as she looked, waved, smiled, and kept going. '_No one's taking advantage of me this year…_'

She hadn't exactly lied when she told Harry and Ron that she'd had heads business to deal with. She and Draco had scheduled this specific time to meet with the sixth-year prefects to discuss nightly rounds. But she'd planned what happened in the courtyard from beginning to end. It almost troubled her as to how predictable her friends were…she knew exactly where they'd be after advanced potions: exactly where she'd found them. She knew exactly what Ron's reaction to finding his boxers in her hands would be, and Harry's as well.

Ron was the one who wanted to keep their relationship low-key, along with the two-sense of Harry Fucking Potter. Harry and Ron together made the decision that making Hermione's and Ron'sr relationship open to the wizarding world was unnecessary exposure, and could possibly put the trio in danger. And, of course Hermione had no say in that decision because of the automatic assumption that she would be largely indecisive and not know what she wanted at all.

It was also _Ron's _decision for Harry to know nothing of their sex life, except for the fact that one existed between the two. When Hermione asked him why she was not allowed to confide in Harry, her longest, closest, most confident friend when she wanted to discuss _Her _sex life, his answer was merely "No one can know the Hermione I know. Everyone knows the pretty, Girl-Next-Door, bookworm Hermione. No one knows the sex kitten I know. Opening that, in the least, would begin a Hermione craze that I wouldn't be able to deal with without the assistance of my wand and the open doors of Azkaban." _Touché, Ronald, Touché._

But after seven months of being a Dirty Little Secret, she was bursting at the seams with all the skeletons in her closet. She was so full, so overwhelmed that they started pouring out of her in little creative, naughty ways. By graduation her reputation would have done a complete 360, for better or worse. No matter.

"You're late, Granger." The irreplaceable, and unmistakable drawl filled her ears as she stepped in to the Head's common room where the meeting was to take place.

Hermione hardly acknowledged him as she walked into the room,

"And you felt the need to state this most obvious fact, because? Do me a grand favor and begin this meeting with a word of something meaningful for a change." She crooned in a singsong voice, making the inter-house grouping of prefects chuckle with the anticipation of a good argument.

"Well, listen here mudlood—" Draco began, the slytherin attitude leaking out inch by inch.

"Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood. So fine, I'm a _mudbloood_. I said it. It's been said. It's old. Get over it." She said in a dangerous voice, not much far above a whisper. It wasn't what they'd expected. They'd expected her to retort with some articulate comment about the science of blood. Not to spin the tables on the Slytherin prince…and shut him up for once.

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He just glared at her in an obvious defeat. His eyes speaking louder than his words ever could. It was going to be a long year for those two. Not only was the bitch changing, but she was winning _his _arguments. Flipping sides, tormenting him, making him look foolish. She'd done it before, but not this way. Never had she done it this way.

And, yes, he'd noticed. Of course he noticed. Everyone fucking noticed. That Mudblood Granger had actually grown the hell up. When he looked at her he could almost forget the irritating fact that she had dirty blood. Almost.

Draco hated looking at her. He hated the way his mind noted the every little thing about her that hhe'd never noticed before. Like, the way her hair sort of fit her look. Wild, and cunning, and dangerous…beautifully dangerous. How her face had grown to fit her eyes. How her eyes were a shining hazel, instead of the dull brown that he'd always seen before. How her lips were large, full and rosy. How her breast weren't so big, but enough that he could cup them in his hands and feel satisfied, and how when she donned her robes he could still see the perky, swell of them through the thick fabric. And how her legs had gotten longer and he could trace her outline through the sheer of her tights, right down to her 3 inched Black Leather Heels that gave her a grown-up, more sophisticated look…

And he'd gathered all that in only three days.

He glared at her even harder as all of this ran through his mind, but forced himself to refocus and head back to business. He could deal with that mudblood bitch later… "Fine. Thomas and Reyna, you will patrol the west wing of the third floor, hours ten through twelve. Organize this as you please."

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**Finito! Please review, and I will update as soon as possible. Hope you enjoyed!!!!**


	3. Chapter 2: When The Bird Flies Past

**To Live Mundane**

Kokey

**Disclaimer: Not mine, J.k. rowling owns these beautiful patented creations.**

**Chapter 3: When The Bird Flies Past**

The Head's quarters weren't too bad looking. With its brown (one might describe it as burgundy, but to Hermione it was always brown) and green décor, the room was encumbered with the feelings of warmth, love, compassion, and even friendship if you dared to venture that far.

As Hermione and Draco were left alone to clean up the papers and documents strewn around after the prefects meeting, Hermione was the one to speak first.

"You're a right cocky bastard. You know that don't you?" She asked, slamming the papers she was about to confiscate back onto the table in the prefects common room.

"And you're a right bloody pain in my arse, do you know that?" He retorted, not bothering to stop what he was doing, concluding that pausing would lead to a more pissed off Draco than anyone deserved to know.

"I don't give a damn _what _pain you're feeling, but I am just about sick of you trying to show me up."

"I don't show you up, Granger, you show yourself up every time you open you're little mouth." He sighs…and pauses anyway.

"So, while in the presence of our dear Draco Malfoy I am forbidden to open my mouth." She asks recklessly, rightfully anticipating some snide, cheeky answer.

Draco threw out his trademark smirk, threw up his hands in mock excitement and said, "Well, bloody hell, Granger. After seven years you've finally gotten it!"

"You know, Draco, I'm so sick of this." Hermione said, her voice calm.

"Sick of what?" He asked, finally looking up at her, mildly interested.

"Sick of how typical we've become. Everyday we do this, and everyday one of us loses. Doesn't it make you tired? "

It was the first time since shed made up her mind to change that she'd dared to venture back into her old self. The Hermione who cared, the Hermione who reasoned, the Hermione who—

"No, but what does make me sick and tired is the thought of having to see you're face every morning. Now if you were complaining about that, then we'd definitely have something to agree on, wouldn't we?" And with that, he nodded his head at her in a salute, and went back to what he was doing.

If he would have seen the look that came about in Hermione';s eyes as he made his statement…he probably would've stopped mid-sentence.

"So, how's you're father Malfoy?" She began, in a deathly calm voice, "You haven't heard from him have you?"

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Draco stopped what he was doing abruptly, as if he'd been slapped. He stood up slowly, counting backwards in his head in an attempt to relax as he felt his blood boil. No one had made reference to his presumably dead father in weeks, and they way she spoke his father's name out of her filthy mouth led him to believe that she might know something he didn't. And Malfoy's don't like feeling left out. Malfoy's are _never _the last to know.

As he advanced towards her, she stayed rooted to her spot. She showed no signs of fear, no trace of apprehension. And this angered him even more. How _dare _she not fear him?

When he finally reached her they were standing toe to toe, eye to eye, one man competing against another in a never-ending battle. Little did she know, the canons were about to explode.

"Where is my father?" He asked, evenly, as if they were sharing meaningless chatter. You could look into his gray eyes and see the ferocity.

"Why, Malfoy! That's a question I suppose you should know the answer to. Why would I know?" So innocent, so convincing, so conniving…so fucking dead if she dared try him.

In one quick movement his right hand was wrapped around her throat in a death grip. "I'll ask you again, _mudblood_, where's my father. I know you know."

Hermione managed a muffled laugh, and a grin, even as he was holding her life in his one hand. "No where near here. Actually he's so far from here, you'll never find him."

She was still smiling, even as he was tightening his grip, even as her face began to turn a gruesome shade of lavender. "You and I both know that you wont do it."

The little bitch was brave wasn't she? She was _daring _him. "Oh, I wont? You wanna bet on that?"

"Sure! My life, for you're beloved testicles. I'm sure Harry, Ron and Ginny would thoroughly enjoy stuffing them down your throat."

Wasn't he squeezing hard enough? Then why was she still TALKING! So typical, she still hadn't learned when and where to shut her bloody mouth.

Nevertheless, he let her go. The prospect of murdering her was beyond appealing, but too complicated. He'd never escape Azkaban, and who knew what the Great Lord was thinking anymore…maybe he had something planned for the third member of the golden trio. Who was he to interfere? '_I'm Draco Fucking Malfoy, that's who.' _But Draco fucking Malfoy's life is just too valuable for his ego to take control.

"I won!" Hermione exclaimed, jovially…she couldn't scream too loudly due to the fact that her voice was temporarily gone.

She skipped past him genially, as if she'd just been kissed. As if it were her birthday and she were celebrating with fifty thousand people. If anyone saw the incident, and then saw Hermione's reaction…they might've thought she was psychotic. He wanted to drop to the floor and cry.

As Draco leaned casually against the bookshelf, twirling his forgotten wand, his mind was beginning to reel uncontrollably. And he couldn't stop it. She'd done it again. Turned the tables. Made him look absolutely ridiculous. Even with no one around shed managed to make him look like a fool.

Draco Malfoy wasn't used to this. He was used to people crying, groveling, and pleading for their lives. Not betting for it…and then laughing about his murderous tendencies as if he never possessed any in the first place. She was the only person except for his bloody father that didn't fear him. This couldn't happen. It just didn't _work _this way.

_But it does, dear boy. It does…_

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**Once again, this was a very short chapter, and I apoligize for that. I'm trying to get these chapters up as fast as I can. Here in New York high school students have a one-week break, and I want to knock out _at least _five chapters before we go back due to the fact that school is time consuming and I will probably not be able to update any time soon. **

**Once Again….REVIEW! Thanx to all of my previous reviwers, this has been greatly appreciated. **


	4. Chapter 3: Life Itself Is Illusory

**To Live Mundane**

Kokey

**Disclaimer: Not mine, J.k. rowling owns these beautiful patented creations.**

**Chapter 3: Life Itself Is Illusory**

As Hermione lay in bed the night before the first Quidditch game of the season, she found herself amused with thoughts of winter.

There were a multitude of reasons why winter was indisputably (to her, anyway) the best season ever. For one, it was the quietest. If one ever found him or herself in need of complete solitude, they could venture out into the midnight air and be satisfied.

The other reason was quite peculiar. So peculiar that Hermione had to muffle her laughter. Winter was the perfect time to lose oneself in the preoccupation of learning a new thing. Like, Quidditch, perhaps?

Yes, yes. The paranoid Hermione Granger taught herself how to fly with the assistance of very expensive books. And the patient hand of Harry Potter. He'd agreed to keep it a secret as long as she agreed to try out for the team in her Seventh year. It surprised both of them with just how _good _she was…it never occurred to either of them that she just might have had some subliminal Quidditch qualities. Actually, the mere though of it was ultimately absurd until one witnessed the divine sight of her rear end caressing the sleek wood of a broomstick plummeting through the air. Then it wasn't absurd anymore. It was…incomprehensible.

Yes, quite.

Hermione was so ready. Ready to awe the Quidditch loving Hogwarts population with her jaw-dropping secret, but she would have to wait until this first game was complete. And as was signature, she hated to wait. Patience had never been a virtue she'd been blessed with.

And so she spent her nights leading up to her Quidditch debut planning strategies for her try-out (even though a try out wasn't really necessary. Being best friends with the captain has its benefits) and imagining the looks on the faces of her peers.

Just that night she expressed her excitement to Harry and he'd stared at her in bewilderment wondering aloud "Since when has Hermione cared about what people think of her?"

She simply responded by saying "Gods, Harry…a bit of self-conscious attention to oneself cant be too harmful, can it?"

It wasn't really that she cared about what people thought…she was just bored with the classic Hermione misconceptions, and decided it was high time to create some newer, more exciting ones. The old ones had become mediocre, and boring.

Shed heard the "Hermione is a Slut when she goes back to her Muggle world" theory. And she'd heard the "Hermione is a spy for Muggle world scientists who want to enslave Wizards for Muggle research" theory. They were both quite entertaining, but yet, not satisfactory. Hermione wanted something deftly dirty, mysterious, complex, and thorough. She wanted an expertly crafted lie (that could very well be true if depicted correctly).

One could proclaim that Hermione's goal was to live a lie. But the argument for _that_ assumption would be that she'd been living a lie for a very long time. It was now, through lies, that she'd guide everyone through the exploitation of her truths. It would be up to them to separate the ideas, from the fact. It wasn't her duty to help them to understand how simplicity could be so complex. She'd never been a fan of spoon-fed imformation.

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Harry never liked four-poster beds.

With their curtains, and poles, and stationary wheels…it was like sleeping on a bed of metal. Of course he didn't quite _feel_ the rough exterior of the metal, but he knew it was there, and his subconscious acknowledged his displeasure and constantly used it against him. Even then, as he lay listening to Ron croon on about his obsession with Hermione, he craved the comfort of being unrestricted.

He craved the comfort to be free to do whatever he likes, feel whatever he wants to feel, and have whatever his wildest dreams pine to posses.

He craved the ability to free his mind from the dire thoughts of disloyalty that were plaguing his conscious.

Harry wasn't really being disloyal. It was more unfaithful, treacherous, trifling, untrue…god, where did the metaphors end?

He felt so dirty, lying there, nodding as he listens to his friend babble on about his thoughts on a specific girl, when he knows damn well they share the exact same thoughts.

Hell, it wasn't his fault. Hermione had always been the clever one in the group, always quite the academic star. She'd never even become a female prospect (to him, anyway) until fifth year. And by then, Hermione was already infatuated with Ron, and Ron had already begun to threaten their fellow male peers with 'hexing them to oblivion if they even thought too hard about Hermy's hair'. Harry wasn't even fully aware of what he felt for Hermione until he learned about her intimacy with Ron. But when it was front and center in his mind, it wouldn't go away.

It was so wrong. Ron was in love with Hermione, the poor boy even had thoughts of proposing to her on graduation night, and here he was imagining what it would be like to kiss her. To hold her in his arms and tell her how much _he_ loved her. Just to hold her hand, and tell the world that his best friend had become his lover, his exclusive devotee…

Imagination is a silent killer.

Harry was abruptly jerked from his thoughts as Ron hopped from his own bed onto Harry's with a sound 'plop'. "Mate, what's in that bloody skull of yours? I've been calling your name non-stop for the pass thirty seconds!"

Harry's eyes widened with the realization that his thoughts had carried him away. "Ron, you've been going non-stop for the past twenty minutes about the same subject. It's no wonder I fell asleep while being wide awake."

Ron kicked Harry in the shins lightly and rolled his eyes. "So what do you want to talk about, then?"

"Anything but Hermione." Harry said, running his hands over his face. Boy did that come out wrong.

Ron looked at Harry with puzzlement spotting is eyes. "What's wrong with Hermione? You love Hermione."

_That's just it._

"Listen, there's nothing wrong with Hermione. There's something wrong with you. How would you feel if I kept talking about how Ginny and I spend our nights?" Bloody hell, he'd forgotten all about Ginny. How could he forget about Ginny? Very easily, apparently.

"Well, better you than that Finch-Flechtetly. There aren't any…nights…to talk about are there Harry? Just to be sure!" The thought of Harry and Ron's sister must have half driven Ron up the wall with the way his hair was standing on end.

Harry chuckled unceremoniously. "Ginny never let's me get close enough to enjoy the hope of trying."

"Good. I still don't understand why talking about Hermione bothers you, Harry." Ron yawned slightly as he made the transition from lying on his back to standing on his feet. "You never cared last year when it was about Parvati."

Harry glanced at Ron briefly, and took a couple of seconds to get his words together. Whenever he was nervous he had a habit of saying the wrong things. It would not benefit him to lose control at that moment. "See, Ron. It's like this…"

Harry cleared his throat, as if preparing for a very large speech. "The way you feel about Ginny, you know, being her brother and everything…It's the same way I feel about Hermione."

_**Lies.**_

"And when you talk about being together, it sort of creeps me out."

_**Selective truth.**_

"I mean, better you than that Krum character,"

_Truth._

"But she's like my sister, and the thought of her engaging in any sexual act is like endorsing incest."

_**LIES!**_

Harry exhaled heavily as if a weight had just been lifted off of his chest, but actually, and even heavier one had settled itself right on his heart like plaque. Now he was lying to his best friend. Great. What would be next, stealing his best friend's girlfriend?

Perhaps.

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I am SO effing sorry that took so long. School is the silent killer. And my laptop is being a monster, so i have to like beg my mom for hers. And my sisters are always on the desktop, so, this is becoming a challenge. Seriously. Don't worry everyone, I have the next two chapters prewritten. If you review, I'll treat you to an update sometime this week..

**THIS IS WHY I'M HOT!**

**KEIKO.**


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